Scarlet Vengeance
by Ashtreerose
Summary: The Annual CBI Sponsor's Ball. It's about to get a whole lot more interesting for Agent Lisbon... Rated K  for minor violence, and minor  very minor!  sexual references. Enjoy! :
1. An Unforgettable Night

**Hello, people! Ah, you have no idea how much I've missed writing Fan Fiction. I missed thinking 'How would Lisbon react to this situation?', etc. It has been far too long for my liking. I have actually been writing another story for FF, but I'm not sure I like it enough to publish it. But last night I had a dream about the Mentalist (don't judge) and I woke up to frantically write it down in my notebook. I edited and twisted the idea a bit until I came up with this. So here I am, finally writing again. Please forgive any errors of any kind – I've only been awake for ten minutes and I am guzzling coffee to try and wake up. I'm not a morning person, but for Fan Fiction... I can make an exception. :)**

**By the way: This Fic is set around halfway through the Second Season, a few months after Bosco's death. (Speaking of seasons... The Season 3 finale was a freaking cracker, right? I swear I said 'OMG' about fifty thousand times. Message me if you want to discuss it, I love hearing other people's theories!)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Ashlee-Rose :)**

**Disclaimer: The Mentalist belongs to Bruno Heller (clever guy) and CBS, but this storyline was created by my subconcious. :D (Oh, and sorry my intro thingys are always boringly long.)**

**1. An Unforgettable Night**

**Teresa**

_The Annual CBI Sponsors Ball._ Teresa Lisbon shuddered at the thought as she rumaged through her wardrobe for her single formal dress. Every year she had to endure the same factors: talking to hundreds of sponsors about the work she did, wearing uncomfortable shoes, and listening to bad music. But at least she hadn't had to worry about keeping an eye on Patrick Jane in the previous years. He had always managed to squirm his way out of it in that clever way of his. But this year one of the sponsors had requested he be there, and he couldn't avoid it. Teresa smirked, picturing Jane being asked hundreds of stupid questions. _Actually,_ she thought, actually snickering aloud now, _he might enjoy it, attention seeker that he is. _

She quickly slipped into her emerald silk dress, and shoved pieces of jewellery on absentmindedly. A ring, a bracelet. She didn't really care. All she wanted was for the night to be over.

She brushed on some rarely-used makeup, actually enjoying herself for a moment in the face-transforming process. When she had finished, her green eyes were glowing, and her skin had a light rosy flush. She twisted her hair back, starting to feel glum again, and already tired of it all.

She was sitting on her sofa, contemplating pulling out some hard liquor when her cellphone rang. She pounced on it, eager for something to take her mind off the rapidly approaching ball.

"Lisbon." She answered on the second ring.

"Hello, m'dear. Are you ready for a night of frivolous fun?" Teresa rolled her eyes, sitting back on the sofa. But she was secretly glad to hear a friendly voice, even if it was her shit-stirring consultant. "Jane, you do realise this is going to be far from fun, right? Trust me. I've been to four of these things." She heard a soft chuckle from the other line.

"Oh, Lisbon, you are _such_ a party pooper. Come on, it'll be fun." Teresa scoffed, preparing to argue, but he interrupted her with a 'you're-being-a-misbehaving-child' manner. (Which was rich coming from him, the thirty-something year old who could turn into a five year old at will.)

"Tell you what, if you get really bored and want to leave, I'll sneak you out. Okay?" Teresa couldn't help but smile. She knew he wasn't joking. "I'm going to be at your house in ten minutes. Be ready! It's going to be a fun night." And the line went dead.

Teresa groaned. She had almost forgotten Jane was picking her up. Her normally trustworthy car had decided to have a hissy fit that morning. She couldn't believe the brilliant timing. When she'd rung to cheerfully announce she couldn't go, Jane had offered to take her, wiping the smile right off her face again.

Ten minutes passed quickly, and there was a knock at the door. Teresa picked up her small silver bag and, sighing, opened the door. She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Jane was smiling at her from the doorway. Teresa noticed he was wearing a well-fitting black suit, and an actual bowtie. He looked... good. She mentally shook herself, putting a slight smile on her face. Jane's eyes swept up and down her green gown, and paused on her eyes. She felt a little self-concious under his gaze, but held her chin high.

"Lisbon, you look lovely." His face turned serious, eyes gazing sincerely into Teresa's. She couldn't help the light flush that started at her neck, although she tried to ignore it. "Thanks, Jane, you don't look too bad yourself." He extended a hand, back to normal Jane behaviour, with eyes twinkling mischieviously. Teresa tried not to smile and failed. "Shall we?" He asked in an over-the-top way. She rolled her eyes and stepped out the door, ignoring the mocking extended hand.

"Let's just get this over with already."

Teresa leaned against a cold railing, looking out over the calm water. She sighed in relief at the sudden quiet that surrounded her. She had survived the first course of the meal, and was now... well, she wouldn't say _hiding_, but technically, that was exactly what she was doing. After the entree, (in which Jane managed to insult his first person of the night, and Van Pelt entered late in a form-fitting dress, causing Rigsby to choke on his soup) Teresa had slipped out to find somewhere alone. She was already fed-up with posh people and their stupid questions. After wandering through a few empty rooms in the huge sea-side hotel, she had discovered a stunning balcony.

_Nobody will find me here,_ she thought triumphantly. But then... the sound of footsteps and a familiar contented sigh. Teresa sighed too. She had been stupid to think for one second that Jane wouldn't find her. It was kind of his thing.

"What a gorgeous view," Teresa turned to see Jane leaning against the doorframe, two glasses filled with bubbling, pale-pink liquid in his hands. "I thought you might be in need of some alcohol to make it through the rest of the night. I've seen you struggling to not pull your gun on one of those snobby sponsors already. And don't try to tell me you didn't bring it," He added with a smirk as she opened her mouth to argue.

"I know it's in that strangely bulky little bag of yours. You're a cop. It's your instinct." He smiled as he handed her one of the glasses. Teresa stared at him for a moment before just shaking her head and accepting the champagne. She took a small sip, feeling the sweet, prickly little bubbles make their way down her throat. Jane came to lean against the rail beside her, closing his eyes to the light ocean breeze.

Teresa smiled slightly as she glanced at his serene face. His skin looked orange in the light of the setting sun, and his pale eyelashes cast thin shadows over his cheekbones. His dark blonde hair ruffled in the gentle wind, making his smile widen like a child's, though his eyes stayed shut.

Something twisted in her stomach, and she looked away, glad Jane's eyes were closed. She was always slightly surprised to feel the rushes of attraction for him, but they came quite frequently at the most unexpected moments. She detested them, and the way they made her feel out of control. Teresa cleared her throat, pushing it from her mind, and looked back at him, lips curving upwards.

"So, tell me the truth, Jane. How many of these sponsors do you plan to insult tonight?" She asked in a sarcastic tone. He tilted his head towards her, like a curious child, but didn't open his eyes as he spoke.

"Lisbon, I don't really insult them. I just tell them what I see, and if they don't like it, it means I'm dead right." A smile was playing on his features. "For example, I may have called that Mrs. Halloway woman a money-obsessed old goat, but the fact she took offense made it all the more true."

Teresa shook her head scoldingly, but she couldn't help but grin. _What a typical Jane excuse. _

"Isn't it a nice night, though?" Jane opened his eyes, gazing out at the horizon. "It's just stunning." He turned to face her, expression serious again, taking her off guard. His face was intense, and the fact he was no longer smiling made him seem even more so. The dreaded rush of attraction returned, making her want to look away, but she found that she couldn't. "Stunning," He repeated softly, crystal eyes intently gazing into hers. Teresa opened her mouth, not sure what to say. But before she even had the chance to think of something, a familiar sound broke the silence. It was muffled, but quite distinctive. The soft click of a silenced gun.

The cop in Teresa immediately took over. Tearing her eyes away from Jane's, she glanced around, hand automatically flying to her hip. The silky fabric there confused her for a moment before she realised her gun was in her bag.

"Did you hear that?" She asked, pulling her pistol out of the small bag and cocking it.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure that was a gun. I knew you had your gun on you, by the way." Ignoring him, Teresa looked around all the balconies around them. "It seemed to come from below us..." Jane peeked over the edge of the railing. "Uh, yes, Lisbon! Yep, there he is!" He pointed downwards, stepping over to her. Peering down, she could see straight down onto the lower balcony. A man lay on the tile, a bullet wound in his chest, scarlet blood painting a circle around him.

**Patrick**

Patrick was always amazed at how quickly Lisbon could go from the sarcastic and slightly flirty woman he liked to share company with, to the hard-ass cop who sometimes scared the heck out of him. It was like she could go from one personality to the other with the snap of your fingers. _It should be her party trick,_ he thought half-seriously as he watched her whip her CBI badge out of that tiny bag. She buckled her gun holster around her silk-covered hips, the formal dress paired with the cop garb making her look like a Charlie's Angel, or a Bond girl. Patrick mentally shook himself.

"The victim is James White." Lisbon announced to the rest of the team. Her voice wavered slightly, which, of course, Patrick noticed straight away. Lisbon's authoritive-voice never wavered. Well, until now.

"How do you know him?" Patrick stepped to her side, slightly concerned that something was wrong with her. He had only seen her upset a few times, and it was unnerving. He resisted the urge to comfort her, as he knew she hated to look weak in any way.

"I used to work with him, along with... Sam, in the San Francisco Police Department. Us three were a team." Patrick nodded, choosing to avoid the topic of the recently murdered Samuel Bosco. That was a bit of a touchy subject for Lisbon, especially since he had confessed his love for her just five minutes prior to his death.

"Ah, so this guy is a cop too. Interesting..." Patrick walked around the body, looking for clues that the others might have missed. Cho sighed from behind him, shaking his head slowly.

"He was due to join the Missing Persons team next week, and then he probably would have joined forces with us. That's why he was here tonight. His death is a huge loss for the CBI... This guy is legendary..." Cho paused and glanced at Lisbon, obviously noticing her distress as well.

"Cho, go downstairs to meet the hotel manager. I want a list of every person in this building tonight. CBI, hotel staff, guests, anyone who has entered this hotel within the past twenty-four hours." Lisbon was in business mode, her fail-proof cover up for being upset. "Rigsby, contact the San Fransisco PD, find out if White had any prominent enemies, anyone in particular who may have wanted him dead. Van Pelt, search his background. Check relationships, family-feuds, the usual suspects." She looked around at her team. "Okay?"

The team murmured their assent before rushing off to do their various tasks. Patrick wandered over to Lisbon, now standing alone, staring into space. He frowned at the look on her face. It was almost... fearful. _Lisbon, scared? It just isn't right._

"Hey," Patrick said softly, prodding her gently in the arm. "Are you okay?" She didn't seem normal. He casually took hold of her wrist, instantly recognising the tell-tale thud of fear in her pulse. Her eyes flickered up to his as she feebly pulled from his grasp, and then her gaze was back on the carpet.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little shocked. I knew this guy, you know? It just doesn't seem real." _I know how that feels,_ Patrick thought to himself with dark humor. She stared at the floor for another moment before shaking her head, eyes focusing again on his. "Did you find anything?" Patrick frowned at her transparent attempt to change the subject, but played along anyway.

"Well, whoever the killer was, he knew what he was doing." He pointed at the broken lock. "That door was not just broken into. A proper lock-picking device was used, one that locksmiths use. See?" He indicated the small indents in the doorjam. "Whoever wanted White dead planned ahead. They knew he would be here tonight, and got their hands on a lock-picker especially for this task."

Lisbon nodded, writing something in her small notebook. Patrick saw her hands trembling, and gritted his teeth. Tremble? Teresa Lisbon? _Okay, that's it._ He grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of earshot of the coroners and other officers.

"Jane," She protested weakly. Patrick ignored her, pulling her into an empty hall closet. He shut the door, flicked on the light, and turned her to face him.

"Okay, tell me what the connection is between something bad in your past and White. And if you don't tell me, I'm going to have to hypnotise you into telling me. Don't think I'm bluffing." Lisbon's eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared slightly, signs that she was irritated. Which meant Patrick was right. There _was_ a connection.

He raised his eyebrows at her. She sighed, suddenly looking small and tired, and sat down on a large empty crate. Patrick lowered himself next to her, his thigh lightly pressing against hers. Lisbon fiddled with her badge for a moment before speaking. "Back when I worked at the SFPD ten years ago, James, Sam and I were a team. Although we were just fresh out of college, we were some of the most reliable rookie agents. We worked well together, and always managed to pull things off perfectly. But then we got a case that wasn't going well." She paused, taking a small, sharp breath, then continued.

"Two fourteen year old girls were murdered, and we knew exactly who did it. William Kalmer." Her voice was bitter as she said his name, and her fingers curled into angry fists.

"We thought we had him pinned, but then the court announced we didn't have enough valid evidence to put him away for murder." Another pause. "For two years, we worked that case." She slapped her badge impatiently, but then went back to fiddling with it. "But we couldn't find any proof. Another two teenage girls were killed, in the same neighbourhood as the last two. Again, we knew it was him, but we couldn't charge him for it. There was just no evidence. This guy... he was smart, Jane. I mean, really smart. Nothing we did made any difference, and... Innocent girls were _dying_ because of it!" Patrick heard the frustration filling her voice. He decided to cut in.

"So Bosco killed him, didn't he? That is the leverage you had when you got him to let me out of jail a few months ago." Patrick was satisfied he was correct when Lisbon ignored him. "Everything makes sense now. So... Then what?" Lisbon looked up at him, her clear green eyes finally meeting his.

"We swore to keep it a secret. But..." She trailed off, looking away.

"Someone else must have known." Patrick finished, his heart filling with dread, although he couldn't pinpoint why. "Someone who was close to Kalmer. And that is who you believe killed White, out of revenge." She nodded. Her normally large eyes were now huge, magnified by unshed tears. Patrick felt a wave of pity for Lisbon. "Who else knew, Lisbon?" The makeup-tinted tears finally began to fall from her eyes.

"I have no idea. Bosco told me that he saw someone watching him as he left Kalmer's house. But nobody ever turned him in for the murder, so we just figured it was a random person on the street. Now I'm not so sure." She looked up at the roof, taking deep breaths to try and push the tears back to where they came from. Patrick knew she was paranoid about showing weakness to most people.

"But if this happened, years ago... Why kill him now?" Patrick mused out loud. Lisbon simply shrugged, still trying to stop crying. Patrick glanced back at her scared face.

"Look," He touched her shoulder gently. "We'll find who did this. We will." Lisbon looked up at him, streaks of tears down her cheeks. Patrick had to restrain himself from reaching out to her and wiping her cheeks dry. Wiping all her fears away.

"Jane." Her voice was cold and scared. "Think about it. Bosco is out of the picture, already killed by Red John. Now White has been murdered." Patrick suddenly clicked, taking longer than usual to figure it out. Or maybe his brain simply hadn't wanted to think it. _No,_ he thought, ice filling his chest.

"Jane, I'm the only one of the team left." Her eyes raised to meet his, speaking his very thoughts with an air of shocked terror. "I'm next."

**Wow, sorry, that ending was very cliched. "I'm next." How many times has that been said over the years? But anyway... Please review, the next chapter will be up very soon! :)**

**- Ashlee-Rose :)**


	2. Red And Gold

**Hope you enjoy chapter two! (I've decided to write all the chapters in one go before publishing them, so you won't have to wait weeks for the next chapter. Except if I want to build up tension/suspense. 'Cause I'm evil like that. :b )**

**Disclaimer: The main characters are not mine, (CBS and Bruno Heller's) although White is my invention. The story belongs to me. :)**

**2. Red and Gold**

**Teresa**

Teresa had never expected this to happen. Okay, sure, a few weeks after the incident she had gotten a little worried, but_ ten years_ later? She had never seen this coming, and obviously, neither had White. She sighed, resting her head wearily on her paperwork-smothered desk.

After the previous night's Ball had ubruptly ended, Jane had taken her home. He had walked her straight to her door, an unreadable look on his face, and intently told her to call him if she needed anything. "_Anything _at all," He had emphasised to her, face stony.

She knew he was worried about her, and didn't really know how to feel about that fact. Teresa normally hated people bothering to worry about her, but now... She wasn't so sure. Living alone suddenly seemed like a stupid, scary idea, and she had actually been thinking about asking Jane to spend some time sleeping on her couch, just so she wouldn't be by herself.

The normally fearless Teresa was gone, leaving an anxious woman who slept with a pistol hidden under her mattress. Teresa had told her story to the Sacramento Police Department (they were handling the case, due to Teresa's personal link to it). Of course, she hadn't told them the full story. That could have lost her her job. But Jane had helped her out, telling her what to say, so that she didn't have to reveal the dark secret she had been keeping for so long.

When she had arrived at work that morning, she had shut herself in her office, closing the blinds on all the glass windows and door so that she felt truly alone, with nobody peering through at her.

Teresa sighed, pressing her sore temples with her fingertips. She had spent the entire night sitting in bed reading, too scared to sleep. And now she was exhausted because of it. She lowered her head back down to rest on the table, but no sooner had her forehead touched the wood when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," She called, picking up a pen and pretending to look busy. The door hesitantly cracked open, and Van Pelt peeked her head in. Her face was sympathetic and slightly scared, as though she expected her boss to yell at her for daring to knock on the door.

"So, uh, Boss, can I just get something straight? We are no longer taking this case, right?" Teresa shook her head.

"The SacPD are handling it. Why?" Teresa put her pen back down, too tired to pretend to be working.

"Oh, it's just you asked us to do that research yesterday night? Should we just email it to the SacPD?" Teresa groaned, smacking herself in the head. _Dammit._ She'd totally forgotten to tell her team they weren't on the case anymore.

"Oh crap. I'm sorry, Van Pelt. I should have told you guys earlier. Have you done much?"

Van Pelt looked almost relieved, like she had expected to be blamed. "Oh, no, not much has surfaced. It seems White lived a pretty happy life." She paused, glancing at Teresa's self-beating-up facial expression. "It's fine, Boss, really. I'll email it now." She gave a small sympathetic smile and left the room.

Teresa slumped again as soon as the door was shut again. Her eyelids were almost dropping, she was so tired. She glanced longingly at the couch in the corner of her office where Jane sometimes slept, if his favorite leather one was in use. If he could sleep there, so could she.

**Patrick**

"Lisbon?" Patrick knocked on her office door. She hadn't emerged to have her usual two 'o clock coffee break, and he had decided to check on her. There was no answer. "Lisbon?"

He pushed through the door, instantly seeing her empty desk. A rush of panic started to bubble up in his chest. But then he saw her, and sighed in relief.

Her face was pressed into the arm of the couch, expression peaceful. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but Patrick saw she still had one limp hand over the gun at her hip. He smiled gently, glad she was getting some sleep, and quietly closed the door.

It was midnight, and the last dedicated CBI staff were finally leaving. Patrick sat up from his couch, stretching his arms over his head. He had left Lisbon to sleep, but now he decided to wake her. He himself had just taken a small nap, and was now feeling wide awake, but if he didn't wake her now, she would be grumpy. And a grumpy Lisbon was a scary Lisbon.

He stood and made his way over to her office, feeling slightly cheerful despite the fact Lisbon may be in danger. But as he got to the glass door, blinds still closed, an unexplained feeling of dread began to crawl up his spine. He quickly looked around himself, trying to catch up with his sub-concious, to pinpoint what was different, or wrong. And then he saw it.

A small glint of gold beside the door. He quickly bent and picked it up, but he knew exactly what it was before he did. Lisbon's cross necklace. There was a tiny red smudge on the right arm of the cross. _Blood?_ Patrick thought dizzily.

Feeling as if he was in a dream, Patrick put one hand against the door, hesitating. His brain was screaming at him not to enter. Getting a clue to what he might find on the other side of the door... It was all far too much like the scene when he had found his wife and daughter. But he swallowed and pushed the door open.

Papers were scattered all over the floor. There was an indent in the couch where Lisbon had been asleep. A small splotch of scarlet stained the pale carpet. And Lisbon was gone.

**-Dramatic gasp- What will happen next? **

**(Wow, I felt like a dweeb typing that. Haha.)**

**Hope you enjoyed this (extremely short) chapter! Next one is on it's way! :)**

**- Ashlee-Rose :)**


	3. Taken

**Without ado, chapter three! :)**

**By the way: I'm really sorry about this, and I don't know why it's happening, but my breaks are being deleted. You can usually tell where they should be, but from now on I'll actually write 'BREAK' so it can't be deleted. Okay? :)**

**Disclaimer: I think you know what needs to be said. If you don't, check the previous chapter. And the one before that. :)**

**3. Taken**

**Teresa**

Teresa came-to slowly. First she was aware of a throbbing pain above her left ear, the spot of pain feeling crusted with what she guessed was dried blood. Second, how bad the mattress beneath her cheek smelled, like cigarette smoke and dust. She resisted the urge to sneeze. Then everything came hurtling back.

She remembered being woken to a hand clamped over her mouth, and the cold barrel of a gun at her temple. She remembered struggling, sinking her teeth hard into the thick fingers, and feeling satisfaction when she heard the soft yelp of pain. Then... her necklace being ripped off her neck, the burn of the chain being torn past her skin, and then... A sharp pain throbbing from her head, and after that, everything was black.

She automatically began reaching for the gun in her holster, but quickly realised two things. A, that her weapon had been taken (the familiar, comforting weight on her hip was gone), and B, her wrists were cuffed together.

She sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dingy light, and head crying out in pain. Teresa looked around at the small room, taking in the concrete floor and walls, her single mattress and a chair the only furniture. She eyed the door, which she knew would be locked. A flutter of panic started in her chest. It was blatantly obvious what had happened – she had been taken by the man who had killed White. But why not simply shot, as he had been?

Teresa slowly struggled to a standstill, trying not to move her head around too much. She knew she was concussed because of her pounding head and slightly blurred vision.

Stumbling to the door, she wrenched at the handle in vain, twisting and turning it. But it was locked, of course. A rush of frustration took hold of her, and she smacked the door with her cuffed fists, taking her anger out on it. To her astonishment, the door swung open. For a split second, Teresa's heart rose. But then she saw the shadowy figure standing in the doorway. Her spirits came crashing back down, smashing to bits on the ground. She didn't have time to move.

He shoved her hard, and she tumbled to the ground, landing hard on her tailbone with no loose hands to blunt her fall. The extreme pain that jolted up her back made her vision black out for a few seconds.

In normal circumstances, she would have been able to fight back, but her head was spinning so fast, she could barely see. She scrambled backward, aiming for the legs of the heavy-looking chair, wanting to put up a fight. But with her confused head, excruciating pain in her tailbone, and her cuffed hands, she was helpless.

The man towered over her, looking like two men through Teresa's warped vision. In one fast movement, he struck her across the head with incredible force, knocking her to the ground. There was a sickening thud as her head hit the concrete in the same place that had been bleeding.

Her last thought before the darkness comsumed her was Jane. Just his face, smiling at her, reminding her he would do anything to find her. And she almost smiled at the hopeful bubble that swelled in her chest.

**Patrick**

Everything was a blur. Nothing mattered but finding her. Since Patrick had found Lisbon missing two days earlier, he had done nothing but think about finding her. And trying to ignore the niggling fact that if there was blood, it meant she was hurt. But he was grasping at the idea she was alive somewhere. Scared, but alive.

Soon after Patrick had realised she was gone, there had been a yell from the front of the building. The night security guard had been discovered, knocked out and dragged behind the absent secretary's desk. He was fine, but frustratingly, he hadn't seen the face of the person who had attacked him.

Lisbon's whereabouts became an all-consuming obsession for Patrick within less than an hour. It wasn't like when Kristina Frye had been kidnapped by Red John. This time was much more intense, since Patrick didn't know the kidnapper, his methods, or his patterns... In other words, he had nothing. Plus, this was _Lisbon_. Kristina Frye, in comparison, was nothing.

_Lisbon... _Patrick's heart thumped loudly in his ears, seeming to say 'Find. Her. Find. Her'. She couldn't be taken away from him. Not like Angela had been.

"Van Pelt, do you have anything new?" Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the throbbing tension headache, watching the agent from his seat on the edge of his couch. Van Pelt, Cho and Rigsby had been in overdrive, frantically trying to find clues to save their missing boss. The Missing Person's Unit were also working on finding her, but they had multiple cases going on at the same time. They had already followed up several possibilites, only to run into brick walls at every turn.

"Okay, I've just found this," Van Pelt said, voice tense as she clicked away at her keyboard. "Kalmer, the guy that Bosco killed, had a friend called Ernie Highton. Highton has been convicted of rape on a minor twice, but somehow, both convictions were thrown out of court for 'lack of evidence'." Her voice was bitter, and Patrick could hear the scornful quotation marks around 'lack of evidence'. "Sounds a bit like Kalmer's cases, huh?"

Patrick nodded, standing up.

"He has been in jail for..." Van Pelt blanched, and she smacked the desk with one hand, face grimly triumphant. "Eureka," She breathed her favorite catchphrase, catching the attention of everyone in the room. "He was in jail for nine years. Just released." She looked up at them, expression half-scared, half-angry. "This is him, guys. This is who has Lisbon."

This guy could have Lisbon _right now_, and she could be _alive_. Patrick strode over to Van Pelt, looking into her eyes intently.

"Can we go..." Patrick paused, trying to phrase it in the cop way. He wanted to say "get him", but he knew that wasn't routine. "Can we go talk to him? Now?" Van Pelt nodded, already pulling her jacket on.

"Rigsby, Cho. We've got something. Let's all go." She handed Highton's details over to Cho, who glanced at the paper briefly and stood.

Without a word, the team threw themselves into the van and drove, Jane following in his own car. The closer they got to Ernie Highton, the more determined Patrick felt that Lisbon was alive. He refused to think otherwise.

**Teresa**

The first time she heard the voice, she had been certain it was just a hopeful dream. Her delirious brain, desperate for help, had conjoured up that familiar sound. Rigsby's voice. Then she heard a woman's voice, sweet, but with a steel undertone. _Van Pelt?_

Teresa sat up, ignoring her whirling head. She closed her eyes to concentrate on listening. The scrape of a chair against the floor. Heavy footfalls. And the murmured voices she thought she would never hear again.

Mustering all her strength, Teresa gritted her teeth and pulled herself off the dingy mattress. She dragged herself to the door, a difficult feat when you are exhausted and concussed, with handcuffed wrists and a possibly bruised tailbone. She pressed her ear against the door, and over the thud of her heart, she heard a voice again.

"...ask you some questions?" The distinctive deadpan voice of Cho. Her heart lifted. _They had found her!_

Frantically, she began pounding on the thick door with her cuffed fists. But as hard as she tried, she couldn't make enough noise. Her wrists were bloody from the cuffs, and the muscles in her arms felt like jelly.

"I'm here!" She called hoarsely, as loudly as possible. But other than giving herself a sore throat, she achieved nothing. She pressed her ear against the door again, desperate to hear something, anything that suggested they knew she was there.

"...thank you for your time." The sound of many footsteps. They were leaving.

Teresa looked around herself desperately – and her eyes landed on the heavy-looking chair. With a burst of adrenaline, she threw herself at it, taking hold of its thick legs.

With a yell, she hurled it at the door with all her might. A satisfying crash resounded in her ears, shaking the wood of the door. The adrenaline faded quickly, leaving her swaying on unsteady feet. Black swirled in front of her eyes, and with one last glance of the door, Teresa crumpled on the hard floor.

**Patrick**

Patrick was panicking. The man sitting calmly in front of him, looking pleasantly intrigued, was giving off the impression of being totally innocent. His eyes revealed nothing but clear honesty. And yet... Patrick had been convinced it was him. It had to be! Or else they had hit another empty lead. And he couldn't handle another one of those. Not when Lisbon's life was at stake.

He resisted the urge to throw his cup of tea at the wall as he stared into Ernie Highton's eyes, desperate to find a shred of dishonesty. Van Pelt was questioning him, also looking disapointed, but keeping it in check. Unlike Patrick, who could barely see because of pent-up frustration. Rigsby was sitting in silence, watching Patrick warily. Cho was writing in his black evidence notebook, forehead creased in concentration.

"Van Pelt, could I talk to you for a moment?" Patrick burst out, not caring that he was interrupting her questioning. Highton's glass-like eyes pierced Patrick's suspiciously, but he ignored it, focusing on Van Pelt.

He pulled her outside, closing the door behind them. "This guy is either a brilliant liar or innocent, but I'm betting on the first." Patrick told her, voice deliberately hushed. "I need to go and search for her, now." Van Pelt nodded.

They walked back inside, Patrick not missing the fact that Highton's gaze followed him, almost predator-like, as he entered. "I am going to search your house," He announced to Highton, starting towards the opposite door.

Highton held out a thick arm, stopping him, and gave a slow, purposeful smile. "Are there not laws against that?" He cocked his head to one side, cold eyes still on Patrick's. "You will all be in serious trouble if you do that without a permit. And you don't have one, I'm guessing?" He smiled wider at the silence that met his statement. "I'm no stranger to the law," He said smoothly, eyes darting around triumphantly.

"Don't worry," Patrick replied. His hands were shaking in anger, but his voice stayed calm. "We will be back in less than an hour with one. And if we find you guilty..." He made himself stop, figuring that threats would get him nowhere.

"Mr Highton, thank you for your time." Cho said ubruptly, standing up. Rigsby shot Highton a look, still silent, and they began filing out the door.

"I'll catch up with you later," Patrick glanced at Van Pelt, who gave him a look before leaving. Her eyes clearly said _'Don't do anything reckless.' _Cho glanced at him suspiciously before setting off down the path.

Patrick closed the door behind his collegues and lingered in the small kitchen, looking around. He was very aware that Highton was staring at him, but ignored the man's gaze.

His keen vision took in everything, from the precise way the kitchen was organised, to the sparkling-clean tile floor. He turned back to Highton, preparing to perform some hypnosis, when he heard it. A distinct bang, coming from below them. For a split second, nothing happened, except that darkness suddenly clouded Highton's eyes. Patrick had already made a movement toward the sound when Highton lunged.

Faster than Patrick would have thought possible, he was grabbed around the neck. The cold barrel of a gun was being pressed into his temple, and he struggled, trying to breathe around the hand clutching his throat. But Highton was extremely strong, much stronger than Patrick would have thought. He was marched down a flight of steps, a door was wrenched open, and Patrick was hurled inside head first. His head hit the concrete with a smacking sound. The world faded into nothingness. But not before Patrick caught a glimpse of dark brown hair, spread out on the floor beside him.

**Uh-oh, not Patrick too! :o**

**I'm scared for them both now. Maybe this FanFic will go in a totally different direction than my others... Maybe someone will die. Oops, I've said too much.**

**I'll leave you to ponder that.**

**- Ashlee-(Evil) Rose **


	4. Nightmares

**The fourth chapter! Enjoy!**

**I have been crazy-busy, so this has been sitting on my computer for months - I'm sorry. I am so slack.**

**Please review, I will read every single one. Even if you just say 'I didn't like it.' or 'I liked it.', and then one reason why... or something! All feedback is helpful to me as a writer, so don't be shy, and don't hold back! :)**

**Ashlee-Rose :)**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish I was the mastermind behind the Mentalist. But I'm not. I just get to (thoroughly) enjoy someone else's hard work. (Probably too much to be normal.) :)**

**4. Nightmares**

**Teresa**

There was a thudding sound from somewhere near Teresa's head, waking her with a start. A loud whoosh of breath leaving someone's lungs alerted her to the fact it was a person. For a moment she lay there, refusing to look. Her body had switched off, and she felt drained, emotionless. But a small choking sound, like someone winded, made her jump. She opened an eye cautiously, and what she saw made her empty stomach lurch. The motionless face of Jane, inches from her own face. With a shocked gasp, she sat up, trying to ignore the rushing in her head.

"Jane?" No response. "Patrick!" His first name fell from her mouth in a panicked yell. She rolled him over and shook his shoulder, harder than she should have. But she was so terrified that he was dead. All her senses screamed out for him to wake up.

And then his eyelid flickered. A hand lifted, then dropped again. Teresa closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of his breathing. She almost wanted to smile.

"Ugh..." A small groan came from the back of his throat. His eyes groggily opened, then slowly focused on her face. His hand rose up to touch her arm lightly, and she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her at his touch. "Lisbon... You're okay." He croaked, eyes softening with relief as they landed on her.

Teresa couldn't help it. She threw her arms around him, gripping him tightly as if he was a lifeline. Tears began to leak from her eyes. Never had she been so glad to see him in her entire life. He sat up slightly, and his arms snaked around her waist in return.

"Woah, easy. You don't want to move your head around too much." He gently touched the swollen lump under her hair. Teresa could hear his heart beating, and knew it was the most wonderful sound in the world... Or maybe it was just the mixture of concussion, relief, and delusion talking.

"Shh, it's okay." He murmured in her ear. "Your fearless agents are out there. If I know Van Pelt, she would have parked around the corner to see if I got out okay. They shouldn't be lon-"

As if Jane had cued it, there was suddenly shouting from behind the door. Teresa pulled away from his comforting hands, listening anxiously. A scuffle, and another yell, this time female. _Van Pelt._ A moment of quiet. Then-

_Bang. Bang. _

Two gunshots rang out. And then there was silence.

Teresa's horror-filled eyes met Jane's, an unspoken question hanging between them. _Our side or his?_

There was a dull thud, like something heavy hitting the ground, then the sound of footsteps, heading towards the door. Jane scooted forward, putting Teresa behind him protectively, and wobbled to his feet. Teresa felt a rush of affection towards him. Jane, who normally cowered behind her, was protecting her. In her state of mind, it made her want to cry.

The door creaked open, and a cloud of dishevelled red hair flew towards them. "Boss!" Van Pelt's relieved voice rang through the room as Jane sighed in relief, dropping to the ground again. Cho took one look at Teresa and started dialing his cell phone, calling an ambulance, she presumed. Rigsby walked in last, a red-soaked towel clutched to his shoulder.

"Rigsby?" Teresa rasped, attempting to stand. _Rigsby's hurt! _Her brain was screaming at her as she tried to run to him. But her ankle twisted under her own weight, causing her to stumble. Rigsby dropped the towel and held out an arm, catching her.

"No big deal, boss. It's only a graze." He looked into her face, concerned. "Are you alright?" Teresa wanted to say yes, but the fact was, she couldn't even stay upright.

As soon as Rigsby's steadying hand left her arm, she stumbled backwards – into the waiting arms of Jane. He sighed dramatically, arms securely on each of her shoulders.

"This reminds me of our trust fall... Good times." Teresa couldn't think straight. She was vaguely aware that she was in shock. All she could think was _'Where is he? Where is he?' _She half expected her kidnapper to enter at any moment, and kept her eyes on the door.

The ambulance arrived quickly, and Teresa was placed securely onto a stretcher. She was told that she had a serious concussion, caused by a blunt blow to the head, and a bruised tailbone. She was also slightly delirious from lack of food and water. Jane was given ice to apply to the egg-shaped lump swelling on his head, and Rigsby's bullet-grazed arm was bandaged. All Teresa could think was that someone could have easily died. Especially her.

As they carried Teresa out, her eyes were drawn to a white sheet on the floor. There was a person-shaped lump under it. And suddenly she knew where the second gunshot had gone.

**Patrick**

Patrick was staring at the wall. He physically couldn't stop. He could not believe what he was seeing. Hundreds of photos plastered to the wall. All of Bosco, Lisbon, and White. And him.

A photo of Patrick entering the CBI, bag of Maree's doughnuts grasped in his hand. Patrick buying lunch with Lisbon at the cafe outside the CBI. Another taken through a window, showing Patrick in his car, leaving work. And many, many more.

Ernie Highton had been obsessed with all of them. He had been stalking them for months, biding his time. And none of them had any idea.

Behind Patrick, Cho ruffled through some desk drawers. The EMTs had just taken Lisbon and Rigsby to hospital, and after being assured they would both be fine, Cho and Patrick had searched the house. Patrick had quickly discovered the small room, hidden behind a clunky wardrobe.

From behind him, Patrick heard an intake of breath, and turned to see Cho, frozen, staring at a tri-folded sheet of paper. Wordlessly, he handed it to Patrick, who began to read.

_'Highton,_

_Introductions are a waste of time in this case, as we have met before. I believe you know who I am._

_I know of your dilemma. You want revenge on those police for the killing of your friend. You want Agents Bosco, Lisbon, and White to pay for what they did. Do not ask me how I know these things. I am well connected. _

_I also have personal reasons to want Samuel Bosco dead. So I will make you a deal, a deal that will benefit us both. _

_I will take care of Agent Bosco. This is not a problem. You can do what you want with White. But in the case of Agent Lisbon, I believe that she can be extremely useful to me. So here is my offer, and I will only make it once:_

_Kidnap, do not kill, Agent Lisbon. From my observations, I expect she will put up a fight, so plan wisely. You can have your way with her, if you so wish, but do not kill her. _

_I have strong reason to believe that Patrick Jane can be lured to you by her kidnap. You do not know this man, but I know him very well. _

_My proposition is that you hold Agent Lisbon, and wait for Patrick Jane to come to you. If you kidnap Jane too, I want him. Mr. Jane and I are old friends, and I would love to talk with him again. Once I have him, you may do as you wish with the woman. She is nothing to me._

_I will wait for your reply, Highton. Do not keep me waiting.'_

And it was signed with a hand-drawn, red smiley face.

Patrick stared at the note, not breathing. _Red John? He's behind all this?_ Patrick's hands trembled, and the paper fluttered from his hands. It had been a trap all along. A trap, devised by Red John to torture Jane, and get Highton what he wanted too.

Red John was even more cunning than Patrick had first thought.

Cho sighed, frustration on his face. "Damn," he swore under his breath.

Suddenly, the fax machine in the corner began whirring, spitting out a single piece of paper. Numbly, Patrick pulled it out, reading it once before closing his eyes.

'_Mr. Jane,_

_You are a lucky man. But then again, Highton was rather incompetent. _

_We will meet again, sometime soon. I have no doubts about that._

_I'll be watching – You, and the lovely Agent Lisbon. She does have some qualities shared by your late wife, you know. Both fiery, both not to be underestimated. But I did, and still do, like a challenge._

_Red John._'

**One Week Later**

**Teresa**

_Highton stands above me, looking down at me menacingly. I try to move, to skitter out of his way, but I am frozen in place. In slow motion, I see him raise his arm high, bringing it down to smash against my skull. Hands are reaching for me, coming out of the darkness... Patrick Jane lies beside me, face lifeless, eyes blank and staring. A red smiley face is drawn on the wall with my blood. And beside it is a second smiley face, painted with what I know to be Jane's blood._

"Arrrgh!" Teresa shot up in bed, screaming aloud. The clock on her bedside table showed that it was one o' clock in the morning. A small river of sweat was working it's way down her forehead, and her hair was plastered to her skull. She could still see the red smiles, leering at her from the wall.

Teresa released her death grip on the sheets, leaning back with a choked gasp. Every night since she had been released from hospital, she had been having horrible, twisted nightmares. But this had been the worst so far... The first time her brain had added Red John.

Jane had shown her the letter and explained everything, but it still all seemed surreal. Red John was no longer just watching Jane... He was watching her too. The thought made her glance at the dark window, all promises of sleep disappearing. The only reason she'd been able to get to sleep in the first place was the sleeping pills she'd taken earlier.

Teresa sat in her bed, staring at the window, her imagination overreacting to every tiny sound, every flicker of a shadow. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. She needed sleep to function. And there was only one thing she hadn't tried.

Picking up her phone, she dialled the first number her fingers flew to. It rang for a few seconds.

_Please, please pick up,_ Teresa thought, getting more scared by the minute. But then-

"Hello?" The deep, surprisingly awake-sounding voice drowned a bit of Teresa's fear, and she clutched it to her ear. "Jane? I need you to come over. Can you sleep on my sofa for a night?" She fumbled over the words, pushing them out of her mouth quickly. There was a moment of silence.

"I'll be there in five minutes."

**Patrick**

Patrick knocked on the door of Lisbon's apartment. He didn't know why she needed him, but all he knew was, it didn't matter. She needed him, and that was that. After a few moments, the door cracked open, and Lisbon's white face peeked through. When she saw it was him, she opened it wide, her expression half-scared, half-embarrassed. She was tugging on the hem of her oversized 'Lisbon' football jersey, a sign she was self-concious about something. Patrick instantly noticed the huge bags under her slightly red eyes.

"Hey, Jane. I'm sorry." She gave a small humourless smile. "I didn't wake you up, right?" Patrick shook his head, stepping in and closing the door behind him. He noticed Lisbon locked it as soon as it was shut.

"Do you want some tea?" She asked distractedly. Instead of answering, Patrick turned to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, surprised, and her pale face gained a slight flush.

"Teresa, what's wrong?" Patrick asked her softly, looking into her scared eyes. She pulled away, looking at the ground, and sat on the sofa with a deep breath. Her fingers toyed with the corner of a throw pillow, and she didn't make eye contact as she spoke.

"I've been having nightmares. Really awful, twisted ones. And I can barely sleep at night, because of the fact that Red John is _watching_ me. A _serial killer_ is _watching_ me! Is this why you never sleep? I feel so childish." She burst out, looking embarrassed to reveal her emotions. She normally kept them closely hidden away, Patrick knew.

He felt a rush of sudden, overpowering hatred for what Red John had done to her. She used to laugh in the face of murderers, and now she was cowering from nightmares? It just wasn't _right_. He sat down beside her, staring intently into her eyes.

"Teresa, listen to me. This is how Red John operates. He creates fear in people, and then he lives off that fear. You can't let him get to you." He reached out and placed a hand over hers. "As long as I am around to protect you, Red John can not hurt you. Do you understand? I will keep you safe."

The fear in Lisbon's eyes had been dimming through Patrick's words, and now she just sat there, watching him. He could see gratitude in her eyes, along with... Something else. Something almost like... Lust? Her gaze flickered down to his mouth, and then back to his eyes.

But then the moment was gone, and she was standing up, pulling a quilt out of a closet. Patrick let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. Lisbon placed it in his hands, her fingers lingering on his.

"Thank you for this, Jane. It means a lot." Her emerald green eyes bored into his, sincere thankfulness clear in them. Patrick nodded, smiling slightly, and began to set up his quilt on the couch.

"Night, Lisbon." He called out to her gently as she started up the stairs. "Night." She replied, glancing back at him. She looked so small and fragile in that moment that Patrick wanted to rush to her and protect her from everything. But then she turned out the light, and was gone.

BREAK

Patrick woke with a start, arms flailing in the darkness. For a split second, he didn't know what had woken him- But then there was another terrified scream. In a heartbeat, he was up. He wrestled with the twisted quilt for a few moments before shooting up the stairs. He didn't even think. All he knew was that Lisbon was in trouble.

Within ten seconds of the scream, Patrick stood in the doorway of Lisbon's bedroom, adreneline pumping through his body. Once he saw she was asleep, and not being murdered by Red John, he slumped against the doorframe with relief. She was thrashing around, face screwed up in terror, small whimpers coming from her throat. Patrick moved to her side, reaching out a hand.

"Hey, Lisbon, shh. Wake up, come on." He murmured soothingly to her, and gently shook her shoulder. But then- _Wham._

Her fist came out of nowhere, slamming into the side of his face. Patrick blinked, groaning, and rubbed the throbbing spot on his head. _Damn. Even in her sleep, the woman can throw a freakishly-good punch._

Lisbon's eyes flew open, flashing around wildly, before coming to rest on his face. She sat up, panting, with sweat running down her forehead. Then she realised why Patrick was clutching his face. Her hand went to her mouth.

"Oh God, Jane! Did I just hit you?" Patrick nodded, wincing. "Yeah, kind of. But don't worry, I've taken your punches before." Lisbon gave a slightly guilty smile, but it disapeared after a few seconds. There was a moment of silence.

Patrick suddenly felt slightly awkward sitting on the edge of her bed, and he stood, running a hand through his sleep-messed hair. "Are you alright?" He asked, gazing into her eyes, searching them. He saw fear still flickering through them, but there was something else there too, something warmer...

She nodded, deliberately breaking his gaze. As Patrick turned to leave, he saw her climb out of bed and walk to the window.

"Jane, wait!" He froze, foot on the top stair. Turning, he saw Lisbon looking at him. Her face was a pitiful mixture of humiliated pleading and terror. She looked so scared, Patrick felt a rush of tenderness for her. "Please don't leave me alone." She said, and tears began silently pouring down her cheeks.

In three strides, Patrick was holding her in his arms. He didn't know who was more surprised. Lisbon hiccoughed in shock, but then gave in to the embrace, leaning her head against his chest, soaking his shirt with tears. Patrick closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the emotions surging through him. _This is Lisbon,_ he thought firmly. _You enjoy flirting and bantering with her occasionally, but that's it. She just needs some comforting, that's all._ But somehow, he didn't buy it. One of his hands unconciously reached up and began to stroke her long smooth hair, and the other held her waist securely against him.

They stood there for a long time, until Patrick's legs were stiff from supporting Lisbon. But he stayed holding her until her sobs got less, and she finally pulled away slightly.

"Crap, I'm sorry, Jane." She whispered, looking at the huge dark patch of tears on the front of his shirt. He shook his head, smiling humorlessly. "People who keep their emotions in check so fiercely lose hold on them sometimes. It's a fact." Lisbon gave a weak chuckle before resting her head on his chest again. A small whiff of a cinnamon-y, lilac-y smell floated up from her hair.

A warm feeling started in Patrick's chest, and slowly filled his whole body. He put his hand back on her hair, and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he never wanted to let go of Lisbon.

But she pulled away, finally, and he let her. Grabbing a blanket and pillow from the unused side of Lisbon's bed, Patrick curled up in the large, cozy armchair beside the window. Across the room, Lisbon climbed back into bed, and her eyes met his for a moment before the light was turned out. As Patrick made himself comfortable in the surprisingly roomy chair, he could have sworn he heard a tiny "Thank you" from the other end of the room.

**-Sigh- I love writing Jisbon moments. It's my favorite part of writing Mentalist FanFics, along with evil cliffhangers. :) What can I say? I'm a fluffy marshmallow. And knowing me, there will be more. Along with maybe a few more cliffhangers...? -Evil chuckle-**

**- Ashlee-Rose :)**


	5. Distracted

**Chapter five! Although this chapter has taken the longest, it is probably the worst FanFic chapter I have written in my whole life. The second half of this chapter is shit, in my opinion. I'm sorry for that. But I hope you enjoy the general ideas etc! Haha.**

**- Ashlee-Rose :)**

**Disclaimer: I can't think of anything witty, so... The Mentalist isn't mine. There. Simple, and to the point. :)**

**5. Distracted**

**Lisbon**

_The morning California sunshine beats down on my face through the window, waking me from my sleep. Without opening my eyes, I groan, rolling over to put my back to the sun. And bump into something beside me._

"_Oof," I huff, opening my eyes to see him, on my side of the bed of course. We are both sharing the same half of the mattress, and I can barely move because I am so close to the edge. I gently elbow him in the stomach. Patrick opens his sleepy eyes and looks at me for a moment, but then closes them again with a hum of contentment._

"_Do you mind moving over?" I grumble, but I'm trying not to smile. "Bed hog." I give him a light shove, to no response. I place my hand back on his chest, and my gaze instantly flickers to the gorgeous gold wedding band on my ring finger, admiring it. He chose a lovely wedding ring for my delicate finger._

_Before I can gain enough arm room to give a good push, his hand suddenly grabs my wrist, surprising me. His eyes open again, twinkling with humour this time, and he pushes my arm back down._

"_I don't think so." He says with a grin, "I'm quite comfortable where I am." I roll my eyes at his childish attempt to irritate me, and turn over so my back is to him, pretending to be annoyed. Of course, he doesn't buy it one bit._

_Within a few seconds, his hand is resting on my stomach, and I can feel his lips lightly touching my shoulder._

"_Teresa," He breathes on the back of my neck, chuckling, and I hold back a shiver. "I know you're not really angry." I can't help the smile that spreads across my face, but carefully re-arrange my expression as I flip back over to scowl at him. In one quick movement, he pulls my head onto his shoulder, his arm around my back. I see him grin adorably at my forced frown._

"_Do you really want me to move over?" His words tickle my ear, and I resist the urge to laugh. He knows me too well. I give up the annoyed pretense and smile up at him. His lips gently touch mine, before drifting to my forehead, and I feel my eyelids drift shut._

_I fall asleep like that, wrapped in his arms, totally content..._

"Mmgnaahh!" Teresa shot up in her bed like a jack-in-the-box, squinting in the sunlight. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought she was going to have a heart attack. From the armchair, Jane's head snapped up, and he looked at her curiously, despite his bleary eyes. From the look on his face, she knew that he was aware she _hadn't _had a nightmare this time. His hair was rumpled from sleep, sticking up in all directions... Exactly how it had looked in her dream. She felt her cheeks heat up, and quickly jumped out of bed, fleeing the room without a word.

In her bathroom, Teresa looked at her own face in the mirror, trying her best to forget that dream. But it had just been so... So damn vivid! She could almost still feel his lips on her face, her shoulders... Her face deepened another shade of pink.

"Lisbon?" There was a knock on the door. "Are you okay?" She brushed some cold water on her burning cheeks, trying to make her face go back to its normal colour. It looked like she had just run a marathon, with her flushed face, shallow breathing, and too-bright eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Uh, you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen," Teresa called back to him, glad that her voice was steady. There was silence for a moment, then she heard Jane walk down the stairs.

After a few more minutes, Teresa had managed to get herself back into cool, calm Lisbon mode. She unlocked the door and made her way back to her bedroom silently. She glanced out the window at her street, and almost laughed at how silly her fears from the night before seemed. With new-found determination, she dressed in her favorite pants and a deep green button-up shirt Jane had once commented on.

She paused, looking at the off-duty gun peeking out from the underside of her mattress. Without a second thought, she slung her discreet gun holster around her hips and locked the pistol in, hiding it with the hem of her shirt.

As she was leaving, her cell phone buzzed on her side table. She picked it up, noting the caller id 'Rigsby'. Before she could greet him, he cut her off, voice tense.

"Boss. You're not going to believe this."

**Patrick**

Patrick sat at the breakfast counter of Lisbon's kitchen, cradling a mug of hot tea in his hands. He was deep in thought, about Red John as usual. But his brain kept flicking back to Lisbon, unable to concentrate.

He couldn't help but wonder what that morning had been about. He had awoken to a strange sound, only to see Lisbon shoot up in bed, eyes glittering with something strangely wistful. She had fled before he had a chance to read her face properly, but her face had been stained red.

He took a sip of tea, shaking his head. He always told her that she was the most transparent person he knew (apart from Rigsby, of course), but that wasn't completely true. Sometimes he had no idea what was going on in the depths of those green eyes of hers... His ringing phone pulled him away from his thoughts.

"Hello?" he answered, still slightly distracted. But the sound of Van Pelt's frenzied voice through the phone jerked him sharply into focus.

"Jane! Jane, I think we have Red John! We have him!" Without realising what he was doing, Patrick stood, knocking the stool to the floor. He ignored it, pressing the phone to his ear so hard it hurt.

"What?" He asked, uncharacteristically speechless. _Red John, caught? Not possible._

"We were dusting that letter he sent to Highton for prints, just procedure, and there was a tiny print on the corner that didn't belong to Highton!" Her voice was fast and Patrick could hear frantic typing in the background. "So I ran the print as fast as possible, it was pretty hard, because it was such a light print... But we got a match! A name came up... It looks like we've found him, Jane!"

Patrick took a deep breath in, intently focused on Van Pelt's voice. "Van Pelt, he's mine."

He heard a sigh from the other line. "I know," She said quietly. "Rigsby, Cho and I are waiting for you and Lisbon before we go. Rigsby is filling Lisbon in as we speak."

As she said this, Lisbon ran down the stairs towards Jane, her own cell phone pressed to her ear.

"We'll be there in ten minutes." Patrick told Van Pelt, and hung up. Lisbon followed suit, and for a second there was silence.

Her eyes met his, face stony and determined. Without a word, they both left the house, got into Lisbon's car, and left. That shared gaze had said it all.

BREAK

The small house on the edge of Sacramento had the impression of being run-down, Patrick noted numbly, but deceptively so. The garden was a little too groomed at the edges of the footpath, and the door looked recently painted. The huge amount of back-up agents who had insisted on coming along were making Patrick nervous. Red John was _his_, and no random police officer was going to take that away from him.

Lisbon had been keeping an eye on him the entire journey. He knew she was worried about him, and appreciated it, but now his need to kill Red John was even stronger than ever. It wasn't just about revenge anymore. Lisbon was now at risk, and Patrick knew he couldn't handle another person he cared about being taken away by that psycopathic bastard.

They all climbed out of the car, but before Patrick could take so much as one step toward the house, a small, but strong hand grabbed his forearm.

"Jane- Patrick." The use of his first name made Patrick flinch. "Look at me." Lisbon's pale face entered his line of vision. She looked nervous, a contrast to her usual 'I'll-kick-your-ass' attitude. "I know you want to kill Red John, and I know you want to be the only one. I understand, Patrick. I know." He voice was softly pleading. "But _you_ have to understand – None of these officers are going to pause, give you a gun, and let you face him alone." She gazed into his eyes, silently begging him to listen. "Please – Just settle for seeing him go down. We will only shoot in self-defense. Are you with me?"

Jane looked at her, wanting so badly to agree with her. To just let the cops do their job, and not cause Lisbon any strife. But he couldn't.

"Bosco didn't always follow that rule though, did he?" Patrick wanted to punch himself at the hurt that clouded her face. He hated himself for using Bosco against her again.

But then she did something that he didn't see coming. She grabbed a spare bullet-proof vest, shoved it over his head, and pressed a gun into his hand. Her fingers paused on his arm, and her face took on a look of grim acceptance.

"Boss, what are you doing?" Cho murmured from behind them. "I know this is Red John, but Jane isn't allowed to operate a firearm." Lisbon turned to him, face hard.

"I know. But Jane needs to do this, Cho." She met Patrick's eyes again, holding them. There was a deep sadness in them, an sufferance of what was to come. And that worried Patrick.

The next few minutes were a blur. Agents surrounding the house, Cho smashing down the door, and all the police pouring in. Patrick stuck close to Lisbon's side, keeping his eyes on the brown ponytail bobbing in front of him. His heart was beating so fast, and he could feel it throbbing in his neck.

This could be it.

As Lisbon, Van Pelt, Rigsby, Cho and Patrick rounded a corner, they came across a man sitting at a small table. The look on his face was slightly scared, and disbelieving. Patrick quickly ran his eyes up and down, taking in every little detail about this man. He was of average height, his eyes a clear, flawless blue. He was about the same age as Patrick, with brown hair thinning on both sides of his head. Patrick hated him as soon as he set eyes on him.

"Woah, woah!" The man stood, his eyes on the guns being pointed at him. He appeared to be nervous, but Patrick wasn't sure if it was truthful. "What's going on here? Who are you?"

"Sir, could you please put your hands behind your head and get on your knees." Lisbon ordered in her cop-voice. For the first time, the man's eyes flickered to Patrick's. And Patrick immediately saw it. Underneath all the fake emotion was an undeniable cold, hard emptiness. It was like two dark potholes, disguised by fluttering blue curtains, deceptively innocent.

The man broke eye contact, getting to his knees. He gazed up at Van Pelt innocently, his face bewildered and confused. _Damn, he's a good actor,_ Patrick thought. _But not good enough. _

Without taking his eyes off the man, who was now being handcuffed by Van Pelt, Patrick stepped over to a noticeboard hanging over the table. He didn't know why, but it seemed to pull him towards it. It had a shopping list pinned to it, along with a few newspaper clippings, unimportant. But then Patrick's eyes landed on something hanging from the corner, partly concealed by a scrap of paper, hastily and badly hidden. To anyone else, it would have just looked like a regular locket on a chain.

Without thinking, Patrick reached out a hand and turned the locket over. There, engraved on the back, were the initials A + P. Angela's locket.

Patrick spun, but before he could do anything, two gunshots rang out. He instinctively hit the ground.

Van Pelt crumpled to the floor, gasping in shock and pain. Her hand went limp, releasing the man, who instantly ran with uncanny speed toward the back door. Lisbon's gun went up, aiming straight at Red John's head. But then Patrick's eyes fell on one of the police officers standing in the doorway. His eyes were crazy, and his gun was pointed not at the escaping man, but at Lisbon. Before Patrick could even move, Lisbon fell to the ground with a gasp. Blood bloomed on her lower back, below the protective vest she wore. Patrick's gaze moved from the feebly moving woman on the ground to the man wrenching through the door, backwards and forwards for a heartbeat. After what felt like an hour, Patrick took a step towards the door, eyes fixed on the back of the man who had killed his family. But then he heard a sound that made him stop cold.

"Patrick..." The small voice was scared and wavering. He spun around, all rational thought fleeing his mind, and saw Lisbon. She had a hand clutched to her side, but blood was pouring through her fingers, a scary amount of blood. Patrick stopped mid-step.

Angela, lying on the ground, covered in blood. Lisbon, lying on the ground, covered in blood. He cared about them both. But there was a difference that mattered – Lisbon was still breathing. She could still be saved. In that moment, something inside Patrick stretched and snapped, the thin band connecting everything he did to his thoughts of revenge. Lisbon mattered more than all of that.

Without a second thought, he threw himself at her side, pulling the hem of her shirt up and lifting her red-stained fingers to see the damage. A gaping wound was in her side.

"Lisbon? Lisbon!" Her eyelids flickered, and she focused on him for a second. Her hand raised slightly, like she wanted to touch him. "Patrick." She said quietly. She opened her mouth to speak again. But before she had a chance to, she went limp, hand falling to the floor with a thump.

Patrick missed everything else that happened. How Rigsby shot the traitor police officer straight in the chest, killing him instantly, and kneeled by Van Pelt's side. How Cho chased Red John, running faster than he had in his life, and delivered a killing shot to his chest, and how Red John smiled as he died. He drew his signature smiley face in the dirt beside him, before slumping against the ground. Patrick missed all these things, because he was trying to hold Lisbon's life-blood inside her body, tears silently trailing down his face as her pulse faded.

BREAK

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, it had been grimly announced that Teresa Lisbon was hanging on the brink of death. The delicate balance between living and dying was being tested.

It had been eight hours since then. Five cups of tea had been drank. Twenty doctors, surgeons and nurses had been rushed in and out of the room. And Lisbon was still not awake. Patrick was trying not to stare at her lifeless hand, sitting on top of the covers, but somehow his eyes kept being drawn to it. It was funny how something so normal, so human, could look so pale. It was almost blue. The slim fingers that had punched him so hard not that long ago now looked so fragile, as though they were made of opaque glass.

"Patrick?" The soft voice from beside him made Patrick jump slightly, not an easy feat. He looked up, bleary-eyed, to see Van Pelt gazing at him. She was sitting in a plastic hospital chair beside him, her shot leg now bandaged. She took a deep breath, then looked him right in the eyes.

"You love her, don't you?" Patrick glanced at the bed beside him, where Lisbon lay, unmoving. She was hooked up to countless drips, and her face was pale as a sheet. After they had spent five hours sitting in the waiting room like zombies while she had been operated on, a sympathetic doctor had said the unit could sit at her bedside in case she woke up. Which she still hadn't, four hours later.

He sighed. "I... I think so." Van Pelt just nodded, as though she had known all along. Which she probably had, Patrick noted. Cho looked up, and he didn't look surprised either. He shot a grimly amused look at Rigsby, who had just spat out a mouthful of coffee, and was now staring at Patrick as though he had just spoken an alien language. Patrick almost chuckled, and would have if the situation had been different. Rigsby, as usual, was completely oblivious to most things around him.

"What? You... Love Lisbon?" His voice was as shocked as his face. Patrick stood without answering, walking over to Lisbon.

The bullet had pierced Lisbon's intestines, and deeply penetrated her navel. She had lost a lot of blood, a significant amount. The doctors had 'done all they could' and 'now it was just up to chance'. She was in a very unstable condition. There was a large chance she would never wake up. All these things, from the mouths of countless doctors, and yet Patrick still couldn't believe a word of it.

It was tearing him apart, the worry for this woman. Running a hand through his hair and trying to ignore the gawping Rigsby, he reached out and lightly pulled Lisbon's hand into his own._ Come on, Lisbon. You'll get through this. _He squeezed her fingers gently.

There was a part of Patrick that was rejoicing at the news that Red John was dead, but most of him was focused on Lisbon. It was amazing how much he had overestimated the power of revenge – It meant nothing if Lisbon was going to be gone from his life. It was almost as if the black hole of revenge-driven fury had been slowly filling in, and he hadn't even noticed until now. The part of him that was still mourning for Angela and Charlotte had been slightly patched up by this woman. He couldn't lose her. Not now.

**Teresa**

_Never underestimate the pain of a gunshot wound. It is like poison flooding through your veins, like your entire body is slowly being set alight._

Through the red haze that clouded her vision, Teresa saw Red John running for the door, Cho at his heels. She clutched at the warmth pouring from her stomach, eyes streaming with pain. Then a hand was pulling hers away from the wound, and she almost screamed out loud. But then she saw his face through the fog – Patrick. And she realised that he was letting Red John get away to help her. As the last spots of blackness took her away, she reached out a hand to grab his. She tried to say his name, to tell him how she felt. But she didn't get there in time, and her hand fell to the ground. She was claimed by the darkness.

BREAK

Beeping and white. That was all Teresa could hear or see. She tried to yell at someone to shut off the irritating sound, she was trying to sleep, but the words couldn't get past her throat. She tried to open her eyes, but it felt like someone had weighted them shut.

"...want some more coffee, Rigs?" "Yeah, thanks." Teresa paused in her attempts to make her body function, listening closely. Was that... Van Pelt?

"Van Pelt?" She said – Or, tried to say. Again, no words could pass her throat. She suddenly felt exhausted. Why was everything so hard?

The next time she came back to conciousness, she could hear the sound of crinkling foil. After a few moments – A sigh. "Rigsby, do you have to eat right now?" The tired, soft voice of Van Pelt. "Sorry. I eat when I'm nervous." The crinkling stopped. "Correction - You eat all the time." Van Pelt's voice was quietly teasing, and there was a snicker. Teresa almost smiled, but then was dragged down by darkness again.

The next time she woke up, Teresa was aware that there was a throbbing pain in her side. She flinched as a voice sounded from right above her. "... some more pain relief?" Cho? "Nurse? I think it's time to give her some more pain medication." He repeated, sounding concerned, and Teresa felt a prick in her arm. Then the pain in her hip slowly subsided, and she drifted back to sleep.

BREAK

Teresa slowly became aware of a pressure on her left hand. She felt a squeeze, and tried to move her fingers in response. _Come on!_ She inwardly yelled at her own hand, feeling idiotic.

"Nurse!" A very familiar voice that made her heart leap. "I think her fingers just moved!" The voice was cautiously excited, and disbelieving. A rush of sound and bustle started up around her, making Teresa flinch. She tried to open her eyes again, and finally, was successful. Her eyelids felt heavy and sticky, but after a few blinks, one face came into focus. Patrick.

"Oh god, I am so glad you're okay." Without his normal control, he wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his arms. She looked up at him, a confused, dazed and slightly embarrassed when she saw the rest of the unit behind him. But before she could speak, he was kissing her lightly on the mouth. _Am I really awake?_ She wondered dreamily, kissing him back.

When she opened her eyes, Van Pelt was smiling at the ground, Cho was smiling at Rigsby, and Rigsby was trying to contain his shock. Patrick smiled at her gently, and told her the best news she'd heard in her life: "Red John is gone." His voice was equal parts happy and sad. "It's over."

She put her hands on either side of his face, and pulled his mouth to hers again, ignoring the nurses that rushed in at the sound of the rapidly beeping heart monitor.

**Ta-da! More fluff!**

**Just for the record, I hate the second half of this chapter. You would not believe how many times I have re-written this – it's one of the reasons it took so long! I hate the way I killed off Red John – it was far too easy, yes? But anyway, maybe Red John was just... taken by surprise? Yeah, that's what I'm going with. :b**

**By the way, in case I wasn't quite clear enough (which is highly possible) the person who shot Lisbon and Van Pelt was one of RJ's people in the police force. Before Rigsby shot him. Oh yeah. :)**

**And Lisbon's heart rate monitor was rapidly beeping because Jane was kissing her. :)**

**There will be an epilogue coming, and then it's the end! I hope you have enjoyed, and I love you for reading my story! It means so much. :)**

**- Ashlee-Rose :)**

**P.s. Hint: I enjoyed writing the epilogue far more than I should have. Haha. :)**


	6. Epilogue  Five Years Later

**The epilogue. Enjoy. :)**

**Epilogue - Five Years Later**

**Teresa**

"My feet are freezing... Give me some quilt." There is a sleepy grumble from beside my head, waking me from a light sleep, which I choose to ignore. After a few seconds, I am rewarded by a light poke in the back, my most ticklish spot, making me yelp. The warm quilt covering me is yanked, leaving me with just cold sheets. I kick the legs behind mine, but not hard enough to hurt.

"Patrick!" I protest, turning over to yank it back. "You are such a quilt-hogger!" He snorts, also flipping over to face me. His hair is sticking up on end from sleep, and his dark blue eyes are twinkling. I sigh, shaking my head. This happens every single morning. And he never gets tired of it.

"Oh, sure. It's me who turns over in the night and takes the quilt with me." He rolls his eyes childishly, but graciously places the other half of the quilt back over me. "Thank you." I say, but before I can even start to act mad, he has pulled me into his chest, settling me there lightly.

"There. Now we can both be warm." He kisses me lightly on the head, bantering forgotten, and I can't help but smile. He places a hand on my slightly protruding stomach, also smiling.

"Or should I say, all three of us." I roll my eyes at his cheesy, joking voice, but I know that the meaning behind the words is true from the look on his face.

"You know, I was thinking," I say after a few peaceful moments. "We should be trying to come up with a name for the baby. Grace and Wayne already have five to choose from." I snort quietly.

Patrick chuckles too. "Yes, but they are eight months, and already know it's a girl, so they have it easy. Plus, you know how Grace is. I'll bet you anything that she has had those names since she was thirteen, and that Wayne had no choice in the matter." He pauses for a second. "We're only five months in. We have plenty of time. All the time in the world."

He gently rocks me in his arms, as though I am the child that is going to be brought into our lives. _All the time in the world,_ I think peacefully. And I drift off to sleep, vaguely reminded of a dream I had many years earlier... Content in our own little world.

**Yay for fluff! (Again.) :)**

**And yes, Teresa and Grace are both pregnant. At the same time. But Grace is 8 months, and Teresa is 5. I just thought it would be such a funny thing to happen.**

**In this epilogue, both Rigsby/Van Pelt and Jane/Lisbon are married. R/VP for three years, and J/L for four. :)**

**I know that this wasn't one of my best stories, and that there are a few mistakes in it. But thank you for reading it anyway! If you are reading this, I want to hug you through the screen. (Yep, I'm a hugger! Haha.)**

**Thank you so much for all your support, everyone, and especially those who put me on their author alert list. Every time I get that little email - '_ has added you to their Author Alert List!' - I start smiling and can't stop. You brighten my day. :) So thank you.**

**- Ashlee-Rose :)**


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